


Cold shower

by margiela



Category: VICTON (Band)
Genre: 2 boys 1 shower, Alternate Universe - College/University, Confessions, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Not Like That
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:08:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28080687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/margiela/pseuds/margiela
Summary: To say that Chan nearly falls on his ass in that tiny shower is an understatement. He stares at his best friend, aware that he is very, very naked.Sejun is cheerful, his level gaze on Chan’s face impressive. “Mind if I join you?”
Relationships: Heo Chan/Im Sejun
Comments: 10
Kudos: 82
Collections: VICFEST®—round two!





	Cold shower

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt 048** : It’s not weird for two bros to shower together to save water or something. It’s for the environment, right? Right?

All Chan can think about on his bus ride home from campus is how much he is looking forward to getting into the fucking shower. There is nothing quite like standing under steady water pressure. And crying. Perhaps some gratuitous sobbing. It’s quite cathartic. Chan calls it Chan Time. Hanse calls it a depression shower. 

Potato, potato.

The walk home from campus isn’t even far, but just thinking about walking the two blocks makes Chan’s feet hurt. So, a short bus ride it is. Maybe if he had brought his Razor scooter with him to campus, he could have saved himself the bus fare, but Chan has an inkling that even then, he would have succumbed to the exhaustion and taken the bus home regardless. 

So many things went wrong today. 

First, he slept through his morning alarm and therefore through his first class, during which there had been a quiz that he will not be able to make up. When he got to the dining hall, he swiped his meal plan card expecting to be able to at least enjoy his favorite menu item for lunch, only to find that they had run out for the day. In his afternoon class, his code stopped working in the final stretch of his project, and he still isn’t sure what went wrong. Of course, he can’t really blame the computer for this, since in the end, all the computer is doing is what he told it to. Therefore, the problem is that his brain is simply: broken. 

After a long and contemplative stare at the scratches in the surface of the wooden library table, during which he questioned not only his intellect, but his place in this computer science program, Chan had decided to call it a day and to tackle the project again the next day with fresh eyes and (hopefully) a functioning brain. 

However, the universe seemed to want to kick Chan while he was still down. He had decided that in order to make up for his bad school day, he would treat himself to some bubble tea. Everything was fine until he went to pierce the plastic seal of this cup. The side of the cup ruptured somehow, sending milk tea splashing all down the front of his pants and causing every single person in the shop to stare at him, gaping. The workers offered to replace his drink, but Chan had been too embarrassed and practically ran out of the shop. 

That brings him to the present, his head leaning against the bus window like he’s a character in a drama, except he’s the pathetic second love interest that ends up alone and single forever after the main character chooses someone richer and more likable than him. Chan doesn’t know where this particular thread of thinking is going, but he does know that he should stop it because it’s only sending him spiralling even further. 

A particularly violent jolt of the bus sends his head smacking into the window, and now Chan can check off Further Brain Damage Due To Vehicular Movement off his list of Bad Things That Could Happen Today. He can feel the lump that has no doubt formed on his temple throb as he stumbles off the bus at his stop, wondering if he’s seeing black spots or if he’s just being dramatic.

On the elevator ride up, Chan prays that no one else gets on or off, so he doesn’t have to make awkward small talk, especially if it’s someone like Yohan, who lives on the floor below him, or his roommate Hangyul. Chan finds it especially hard to make conversation with the latter, because for him, he’s a little harder to read and Chan cannot tell when the man is joking or or being serious. 

Thankfully, Chan makes it to his shared apartment without encountering anyone at all, but it does take him a few extra seconds to get in the door, because his vehicular brain damage seems to have caused him to forget their door code. He feels extra stupid when he remembers it’s his own goddamn fuckin’ birthday. 

When he finally gets inside, Sejun is on the couch with his legs dangling off of one end as he holds his phone above him and scrolls. He sits up and an active part of Chan’s mind can vaguely register being greeted, but he doesn’t hear it because he’s too busy kicking the door shut and taking his shoes off. He stalks off to his bedroom without acknowledging Sejun.

Chan drops his bag on his desk chair, heads to the bathroom and shuts the door, turning on the shower so the water heats while he undresses, already feeling some relief of pressure in his chest from the growing amount of steam filling the room. Chan takes the time to connect his phone to the bluetooth speaker that he and Sejun keep in the bathroom, hitting shuffle. 

As soon as Chan steps under the hot spray of the shower, he can feel the tension melt like butter from his shoulders, rolling them back and forth to loosen up some more as he stands there and savors the sensation. He can feel his mood improving by 0.5 depression levels as he allows himself to break out into a passionate sing-along to Feel Special. 

Chan is about to start washing his body with his favorite giant brick of green tea soap when he thinks he hears the bathroom door open, but he chooses to ignore it as he raps enthusiastically along to Dahyun’s part. 

“ _You make everything alright…_ ”

He’s about to get down and into the dance break when the shower curtain is yanked aside and he screams. 

To say that Chan nearly falls on his ass in that tiny shower is an understatement. He stares at his best friend, aware that he is very, very naked. 

Sejun is cheerful, his level gaze on Chan’s face impressive. “Mind if I join you?” 

Chan is hyper aware of the fact that he has a hand splayed on his chest as if to cover up when his junk is on full display, and his other hand clutches his giant brick of soap, wielding it like a weapon. He splutters, and tries not to look anywhere except Sejun’s face. 

He even has to pretend that his eyes don't flick down for a millisecond. That’ll have to be an occurrence that he unpacks later.

“What the fuck.” 

“You seemed a little upset about something earlier, so I came to check on you,” Sejun says, his brows furrowing and his voice taking on a concerned tone. He shuts the curtain and suddenly the tiny space feels even tinier. Chan can see the other man searching his face as if there’s anything in his expression aside from abject horror at this moment. 

“WHILE I’M IN THE SHOWER? NAKED?”

“Why’d you add on the last bit? Of course you’re naked. It’s the shower. And why are you still holding your soap like you’re gonna brain me with it?” 

Chan lowers his soap but only slightly. His grip tightens, and he tries not to wince when he realizes how high pitched his voice has become in his state of panic. “WHY ARE YOU ALSO NAKED?”

“Well, why would I get into the shower with my clothes on, dummy.”

Chan resists the urge to brain him. 

“Get out.”

“But-” 

“GET OUT.” 

Sejun shoots him a hurt look and pushes the shower curtain aside and steps out, not even bothering to shut it behind him as he walks out of the bathroom, still naked, his clothes in hand. Chan stares after him, seeing yet not seeing, before he finally pulls the curtain shut and finishes his shower, unsettled. 

Chan spends a good hour after he’s done in the bathroom with his face pressed into his pillow, trying to banish the memory of what has just happened out of his mind. When he thinks he has repressed enough, he grabs the giant, clunking heap of stainless steel that is this water bottle and heads to the kitchen. 

It takes almost all his willpower not to turn right back around when he sees Sejun on the couch, but he reasons to himself that he needs to drink water, because according to the influencers on Instagram, water can fix anything: acne, clinical depression, and maybe if he adds some sliced lemon, it’ll even solve his student debt. 

He’s watching Sejun out of the corner of his eye as he stands at the fridge and fills his bottle, recoiling with horror as he sees the man get up from the couch and start heading his way. 

“Can we talk for a second?” Sejun asks, leaning against the counter and therefore blocking Chan’s way out of the kitchen. 

Unless he takes it at a run and knocks Sejun out of the way. Curse the tiny university-issue apartment kitchen. 

“Uh, yeah, what’s up,” Chan says, taking a deep gulp of water. He sets his bottle down on the counter and opens the fridge just for something to do. He spots some month old side dish containers in the back and leans in to grab it so he can throw it away. 

“I don’t appreciate the way you yelled at me earlier,” Sejun says, and Chan can practically hear the pout in his voice as he steps away from the fridge and shuts the door. He drops the plastic banchan containers into their trash can. Some nastiness from the outside of them gets on his fingers and it’s easy to avoid eye contact and ignore the feeling of his racing heart rate if he has to wash his hands.

“I don’t appreciate the way you got into the shower with me naked,” Chan shoots back, furiously lathering their cherry blossom scented soap. He sees the way Sejun’s brows furrow as he watches Chan wipe his hands on the hand towel they have hanging on the oven. 

“Why do you keep mentioning the fact that I was naked? Would it have been better if I had stayed in my clothes?” Sejun sounds genuinely confused and Chan desperately wants to walk back over to the fridge and slam the door shut on his head. 

Instead, he takes a deep breath the way that the yoga instructor on YouTube told him to, grabs his water bottle, and starts heading towards his room. 

“Chan—?”

“Please stop talking to me!”

Chan wishes he could say that the shower incident has left his poor little brain, but alas, he cannot, and he is up late a few nights later, lying in bed and scrolling on his phone. 

And suddenly, he remembers. 

The shower curtain pulling back, the way Sejun had stepped in, naked, and most importantly and most horrifying: the way Chan saw his d*ck. And yes, his brain censors the word because Chan really cannot process the fact in any form. He shuts his eyes as if this would prevent his imagination from wandering.

But then the rebellious part of his brain gleefully supplies the image again and Chan drops his phone on his face. It fucking hurts. 

“FUCK.” Chan just lies like that for a second, his phone flat on his face, making no move to pick it up again. 

“You okay?” 

Sejun has stepped into Chan’s room, no doubt having heard his bellowing from wherever he was in the apartment moments before. Chan turns his head to look at the man, his phone slipping off his face and clattering to the floor as he takes in Sejun in his doorway. Sejun looks extremely cozy and a lot more covered up than he looked in Chan’s head just a second ago. 

“Dropped my phone on my face,” Chan sighs, rubbing sorrowfully at his aching nose, trying not to think about how cute Sejun looks with his hoodie cinched up around his face like that, two steaming mugs in his hands. Cute? Was that the word he just used? What the fuck. 

“Do you want me to kiss it better?” Sejun asks, walking towards Chan.

“Do I what.” Chan is screaming inside to hide the fact that his brain has unhelpfully supplied the answer ‘Yes’ in response to Sejun’s question, but he isn’t about to say it. 

Sejun leans down and kisses his nose all loud and dramatic anyways and Chan can feel his face get hot. 

“See? All better,” Sejun says, smiling as he straightens up. He sets one of the mugs down on Chan’s side table before he starts towards the door. “Made some chamomile tea. I hear it’s good for helping you sleep. Good night!” He says this over his shoulder as he walks out, shutting the door behind him with a gentle click. 

Chan stares at the doorway, dumbstruck, reaching up and touching his nose with his fingertips, wondering why he’s feeling so warm and strange. 

He will simply do what he does best: repress. 

Well, that and then pulls out his Switch so he can play Animal Crossing and sell his soul to the capitalist devil that is Tom Nook. 

Seungsik is treating Chan to lunch, because he’s an angel like that. But he also wouldn’t do something like that for free. Hence, Chan sells his soul in the form of all his secrets and gossip to the other devil. It is the price to pay for some good advice. Nine times out of ten, at least. 

“So you saw him naked,” Seungsik repeats for the second time, sounding confused, but not at all shocked like Chan thought he would be. 

“Yeah?” 

“Have you not seen him naked before?” Seungsik sounds genuinely shocked at this, however, and Chan feels confusion wash over him at this.

“No?”

“You guys are best friends and have lived together for two years and you haven’t seen him naked?” Seungsik says this slowly, like this is a fact that he truly does not understand. He’s examining Chan over the rim of his mug of rice tea, brows furrowed, and Chan feels the urge to squirm in his seat. 

“We’re bros. And I have boundaries,” Chan mumbles, shoving some rice into his mouth. 

“Bros,” Seungsik repeats. “Boundaries.” 

“Yeah.” 

“...Okay, then how do you feel about it?” 

“How do I feel about us being bros?” 

“No, about seeing Sejun naked, silly.” 

“What do you mean how do I feel about it—It was fuckin’ weird,” Chan says, and even he can hear the defensive tone coloring his voice. 

Seungsik just squints at him for a moment and then goes back to digging into his food. “Uh-huh.” 

“What.”

“Nothing.”

“...What.”

“Well, not to point out the obvious, but I’ve seen your dick.” Seungsik just throws this out, like he’s commenting on the weather or reminding Chan to eat his vegetables and to clean behind his ears.

“That’s different,” Chan insists, feeling his ears growing hot. 

“And why is it different?” Seungsik asks, and he sounds like he’s talking to a toddler.

“It just is,” Chan stares determinedly at his rice as he rolls a single grain with his chopsticks.

“Uh-huh. Wonder why that is,” Seungsik says, and his voice is sing-song as he begins hogging all of the beansprouts. 

“What.”

“Nothing just eat your food,” Seungsik says, shrugging, but the amused smile on his lips as he eats is enough to cause the nerves gnawing at Chan’s stomach to get stronger. 

Chan is sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter doing some homework on his laptop, snacking on some grapes as he works. Sejun comes into the kitchen and begins to get his protein shake ready before he heads out to the gym. 

Chan realizes he’s stopped staring at his laptop screen, his eyes glued to Sejun's arms, unable to look away from the way his muscles move as he scoops powder into his shaker bottle and adds water and shakes the bottle. 

And then Chan’s gaze drops and he sees how Sejun’s butt looks in those sweats—

Wait. 

Sejun clears his throat, and Chan’s eyes snap up to his face. He can feel heat rising up his neck and most probably coloring his face red and Chan wants nothing more than to pass away right there.

“Can I help you?” Sejun sounds amused and Chan wants to die so fucking bad, what the fuck. 

“No I was just—” Chan stammers desperately, breath getting caught in his throat and causing him to have to stop in the middle of his sentence. 

“Uh-huh.” Sejun sounds so fucking smug, so fucking annoying, and it’s takes everything in Chan not to just grab him by the face and—

 _Oh_. 

Hold on.

Chan thinks he blacks out. 

It is the weekend. The group is at some house party and Chan is sitting on the kitchen counter talking to Cho Seungyoun from his stupid philosophy class. Seungsik is also there, and they’re all nursing beers as they chat. 

“I’m eighty percent sure that there was a handjob under way in the back of the lecture hall yesterday,” Seungyoun says seriously, draining the rest of his beer. 

“What about the other twenty percent?” Seungwoo asks this as he comes up with a cup of what looks like straight tequila. Jesus. 

“The other act that involves the mouth,” Seungyoun says solemnly, and Seungsik snorts. 

“Why don’t you just say blowjob,” Seungsik says. 

“Why say lot word when few do trick?” Chan says, and Seungsik smacks his leg. 

“Because many words make you sound smart,” Seungyoun says, and Seungsik snorts again. 

“Whatever you say, genius.”

Subin comes up to the group, a furrow in his brow and instantly, Chan, Seungsik, and Seungwoo exchange looks. “What’d he do?” Seungsik sighs, already setting down his beer.

“Who?” Seungyoun sounds confused. 

“Sejun,” all three supply in sync. 

Chan slides off the counter and drains the rest of his beer, setting the bottle down once he’s done. 

“Sejun threw up.” And Subin looks like a little kid coming into his parents’ room in the middle of the night: the stance, the tone of guilt—it’s all the same. 

Everyone says goodbye to Seungyoun, who looks amused as he waves at them, watching as they walk away and follow Subin to the bathroom upstairs. 

When they arrive, Byungchan and Hanse are already there. Hanse is sitting on the bathroom counter on his phone, looking bored as he scrolls. Sejun is standing at the sink, and everyone watches as he throws back some mouthwash and begins swishing, waving merrily at them. 

“He just took it from under the sink.” Hanse sounds tired. 

Chan studies Sejun, taking in the pink flush high on his cheeks, the light sheen of sweat on his forehead and thinks absently about how even in his post-sick state, Sejun looks pretty. Something tightens in the pit of his stomach. 

“And you didn’t stop him?” Seungsik sounds appalled, and Byungchan snorts. 

“No, he needs it,” he says, face screwed up in disgust. “Trust me.”

Everyone watches as Sejun spits into the sink and straightens up, smiling at them all in the mirror. Chan feels like he’s been punched in the gut. What else would explain that strange feeling that suddenly washes over him? Is he getting nauseous from the thought of Sejun vomiting? Must be that.

“I feel so much better!” Sejun’s voice almost feels too loud and Chan winces as he continues to fixate on whatever it is that he’s feeling. He’s having a crisis in the middle of a tiny bathroom while his best friend stands there in the midst of their friends, looking radiant as if nothing just happened. 

“Did you just sober up by vomiting?” Seungwoo sounds so confused, and it’s clear everyone feels the same.

“Seems like it,” Sejun replies cheerfully, and then he fucking giggles. _Giggles_. Subin hands him a bottle of water slowly, eyeing him suspiciously.

Chan stares as Sejun begins to chug from the bottle, his eyes slipping down to the way his Adam’s apple bobs, and literally What Goes On. 

(A hint, from the author, a fourth-wall break, if you will. Chan is experiencing what we call Gay Panic.)

“That’s not even a thing, hello?” Hanse sounds exasperated as he hops off the counter. “Sobering up by throwing up?”

“It must be if it just happened to me!” Sejun’s voice is sing-song, the smile on his face is even more radiant if that’s even possible, and Chan thinks he has begun to sweat.

“That is the most flawed logic—”

“My logic is not _flawed_ —”

“THERE’S SEVEN PEOPLE IN THIS BATHROOM CAN WE PLEASE CLEAR OUT,” Chan yells, really not meaning to, but it comes out loud, panicky, and he’s not sure why. 

Everyone turns their heads and collectively stares into the mirror at Chan strangely, before they realize something else. 

“Seungwoo why are you standing in the shower,” Seungsik sounds so tired all at once, shaking his head. 

“It’s cramped in here,” Seungwoo says simply. “I’m a tall guy.”

“So am I, but you don’t see me standing in a stranger’s bathtub,” Byungchan snorts. 

“CAN WE GO, PLEASE.” Chan is still sweating and doing everything in his power not to look at Sejun.

“Why are you yelling again? What is it about bathrooms that makes you raise your volume?” Sejun sounds genuinely concerned and confused, and it would make sense because the last time he was in a bathroom with Sejun, there had been quite a bit of yelling involved too. 

“Has he yelled at you recently or something?” Subin furrows his brows, looking between Sejun and Chan. 

“Yeah, I got into the shower with him last week and he started screaming—”

Everyone stares between Sejun and Chan, and Seungsik does a stellar job at pretending he has no idea about any of this as Hanse cuts Sejun off. “You did what now.” 

“Are we not going to talk about it?” 

Chan tiredly puts his head down on the wooden library table because he knows exactly what Hanse is asking. He can already feel his ears getting warm. Hanse has the kind of whisper that carries. The kind of whisper that might as well be his regular voice because Hanse’s whispering is so goddamn loud. Chan decides to play dumb. 

“Talk about what.”

“The fact that you and Sejun showered together.” 

“We did not shower together. And not so loud, what the fuck,” Chan hisses, lifting his head and reaching his foot underneath the table, kicking Hanse lightly in the shin. 

Hanse glares back at him, kicking Chan nowhere near as gently as Chan had kicked him. “What do you mean not so loud. I’m whispering, asshole,” Hanse hisses back. 

“We did not shower together,” Chan fumes, putting his head back down on the table.

“Well he said—”

Chan rolls his eyes so far in the back of his head that he thinks he’s gone blind. He lifts his head again and cuts Hanse off. “Let me give you the Sparknotes version of what happened, minus the Sejun dramatization,” Chan snaps. Hanse raises his eyebrows, and his piercing glints in the sunlight coming in from the skylights above. 

“...Okay…”

“I was in the shower. Sejun got in and he was naked. I yelled at him to get out. He got out. That’s all.”

Hanse squints at him. “...Uh-huh…”

“Why do you people keep doing that?”

“Who.”

“You and Seungsik.”

“Doing what?” 

“Saying uh-huh.”

Hanse squints at him. “Has it ever occurred to you that you’re just stupid?”

“What? And why do you keep squinting at me? Put your fucking glasses on,” Chan says defensively, and he thinks he’s starting to sweat. What is it with that? Why does he keep fucking sweating. “I’m not stupid.”

“Seeing Sejun naked didn’t cause any revelations? Awakenings?”

“What kind of awakening, the fuck?”

“The gay kind.” 

“I already know I’m gay, why do I need an awakening?”

“A gay awakening for _Sejun_ , dumbass.”

“What the fuck.”

“You’re blushing, so I guess that’s a yes.”

“I’m not blushing, what the fuck.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I am not.”

“Looks like you’re sweating too,” Hanse snorts, gaze flicking to Chan’s forehead.. 

“NO. I’M FUCKING NOT.”

As the reader has probably guessed, Chan gets kicked out of the library. 

Let’s set the scene. 

He’s in the shower. He’s got some Daniel Caesar playing in the background. He’s serenading some tall, faceless stranger in his head with his bar of soap as a microphone. His face is screwed up with faux-emotion. He hears the bathroom door open. Their bathroom does not have locks for whatever reason and their landlord is useless. Chan freezes, soap bar still near his mouth as he waits. 

“I’m coming in,” Sejun says, and his voice is quiet, absent of his usual pep, but Chan doesn’t notice this in his state of panic.

“What. No. No you’re not,” Chan squeaks, voice going several octaves higher. He hears the sound of clothes dropping onto the floor and the shower curtain gets pushed to the side moments later. Chan yelps as Sejun gets in and shuts the curtain. 

“I said no,” Chan wails, the hand with the soap bar dropping to his side.

“I had a bad day,” Sejun says forlornly. “Can we have bro time?”

“In the shower?” 

“Why does it matter where we are?”

“Well, you’re naked for one.”

“Why do you keep fixating on me being naked?” 

Chan stops breathing. “What.”

“Pass me the shampoo,” Sejun says simply, and he looks so genuinely down that Chan can’t bring himself to say no a second time. Or technically. The fourth time. 

Chan slumps. “Fine.” 

More and more often, Sejun begins to join Chan in the shower, and Chan doesn’t say a word. He just sighs and hands him the shampoo and minds his own business. But then eventually it changes from Sejun joining when Chan is already halfway done, to him joining from the very beginning. 

The way that Chan rationalizes it to himself is, to say the least, stupid. He figures that it’s probably more efficient and convenient for both of them to shower at the same time. That way there’s no waiting around while they wait for the other to finish. It makes sense. To a crazy person, maybe. 

Most of the time, they actually talk while they’re in the shower, recounting how their days went and joking around, bickering like they usually do. Also, because they’re actually eight-year-old boys, they give each other mohawks with the aid of their shampoo bubbles. Other times, they don’t talk at all because one or both of them are in a rush and really do need to be in and out so they can get on their way to work or school or some other appointment. 

Chan also uses all the self-control that he possesses to only look at Sejun from the chest up. Any lower than that was strictly forbidden. For obvious reasons. 

It only gets a little weird when Sejun gets into the shower and is crying one time. 

Sejun shuts the curtain behind him and leans down to rest his forehead against Chan’s shoulder. For a moment, Chan freezes. Not because he doesn’t know what to do in this situation, but because usually, they’re not in the fucking shower for this kind of thing. 

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?” Chan’s voice is soft, and he has lifted a hand to tangle his fingers in Sejun’s hair, gently massaging his head. This is something he would usually do in normal Upset Sejun circumstances, usually while they cuddle.

It takes a few moments of silence before Sejun lifts his head and he looks forlornly at Chan, eyes shining in the fluorescent bathroom lighting. “Nothing happened,” Sejun manages, and his voice higher than usual, breaking on the last word. “Just one of those days.” 

Sejun sometimes goes through random bouts of sadness and wallowing, and Chan has always been the one who knows best how to handle it. They’re not best friends for nothing. Usually during times like this, the two of them spend a lot of time together, either on the couch or in each other’s beds, limbs intertwined and Sejun’s face buried in Chan’s neck. 

And Chan is a lying liar who lies and he thinks that Seungsik had known it from the start when he had said he had boundaries. He doesn’t, not when it comes to Sejun, at least not in the way that boundaries usually mean. The only boundary he has is the one that keeps him from reading too much into the way they are with each other. It’s a boundary that he thinks keeps him from getting hurt. 

“Hey,” Chan says quietly, and he’s holding Sejun’s face in his hands, thumbs gently caressing his cheeks, brushing away the falling tears. “I’m here.”

They just stand there in the shower, the hot spray filling the small space with steam that swirls around them as they look at each other, and something passes between them. Chan doesn’t know what it is, but something feels different as he searches Sejun’s face, something about the look in his eyes has shifted. Sejun is leaning into his touch, like the feel of his skin against Chan’s grounds him. 

There’s a tightening sensation somewhere beneath Chan’s sternum, but he ignores it in favor of taking in the way the corners of Sejun’s mouth eventually lift, treating him to the smallest of Sejun smiles, but one that gets his heart skipping all the same. 

A few weeks later finds Chan and Sejun in the shower again after a big dinner of some of the food that Sejun’s mom had brought over while she was visiting. 

The pair are talking about the friend group’s plan to go karaoking in a few weeks when their midterm exams are over as a sort of celebration. Sejun declares that he plans to get proper fucked up and Chan snorts. 

“As if you don’t already get fucked up every time we go anyways,” Chan says, shaking his head as he scrubs Sejun’s back with his pink loofah. The body wash they bought from their last trip to the store is orange scented, and Chan thinks it’s his favorite scent they’ve had so far. 

“I still like to announce it anyways,” Sejun says cheerfully, and he turns around so his back is facing the shower spray and begins to rinse off all the suds. Chan hands him the loofah so he can rinse it as well and grabs his own blue loofah off the hook they applied to the shower wall. Sharing loofahs is completely out of the question. Disgusting. They may shower together, but there were rules about razors and towels and loofahs and things: no sharing allowed. 

“So is it just gonna be us?” Chan asks, leaning in closer to Sejun so he can reach forward for the body wash bottle. It’s located in the corner and he can’t reach without getting into Sejun’s space a little and getting a little bit of water in his face. 

“No, I think Seungyoun is coming,” Sejun says, absently as he runs his hands over his arms. “I think he’s bringing his boyfriend. The little one.” 

“Wooseok?” Chan asks, and for some reason he can’t reach the bottle still, so he’s stepping forward, but his foot lands on a glob of body wash that had landed on the shower floor and he’s slipping and his life is flashing before his eyes—

But Sejun has caught him, his hands gripping Chan so tight in the shoulders that he thinks it’s going to leave a bruise. But that’s the least of Chan’s worries, because Sejun’s face is suddenly so, so close. 

Chan feels like the breath has left his lungs and he can feel Sejun’s flitting over the flesh of his lips. 

There’s a moment where the air around them feels just like that time Sejun had been crying, and it’s suffocating, it’s too much. Chan pulls away quickly, clearing his throat and shoving his blue loofah into Sejun’s chest. Sejun fumbles, but he catches it, and his brows are furrowed, he looks dazed, like he’s just snapped out of a dream.

“Wash my back,” Chan manages to get out, turning his back on Sejun so he doesn’t have to see the way that sheer terror has written itself all over his face. 

“O-Okay,” Sejun says, and even his voice is shaky.

Even he isn’t immune to the way the air had thickened between them just now, the way it had felt like everything had frozen, like the particles of steam itself had stopped, suspended in air in one spot. 

Chan’s heart is pounding and he chides himself. What is he so fucking afraid of? 

Chan really wishes that he was less of a coward, he really does. But he is so shaken by what had happened in the shower that he stays cooped up in his room for the rest of the night, giving the excuse that he’s studying. Technically, he isn’t lying, because he really does have to study, but all he is doing is sitting there at his desk and staring at the blinking cursor on the blank document that he originally had started for his notes. 

There’s also some issues with his code for an assignment, but he decided that if he worked on it in this state, he is likely to delete the whole thing out of emotional distress.

He is listening to Twice, as one does when processing what seemed like an almost-kiss with their best friend. But of course, he could also be reading too much into this and his pseudo-boundaries have failed him once again. It can’t have been an almost-kiss—neither of them had made a move. Chan was just stupid and clumsy and lost his balance and Sejun had caught him and prevented the inevitability of a broken hip. 

Chan knows that this isn’t how gravity works but there was something that was pulling him towards Sejun, in that moment, it felt like there was a force that was drawing him closer, drawing him in and he doesn’t want to admit that it was his own desire, his own wishful thinking. 

There’s a knock on his door before it swings open gently, and Sejun comes in, steaming mug in hand and a bowl of peeled and cut persimmons in the other. He ruffles Chan’s hair, a small, hesitant smile pulling at his lips. 

“Good luck with studying,” Sejun says, his voice quiet as he starts heading towards the door. “Don’t stay up too late.” 

Chan doesn’t even get to thank him before he’s gone. He stares at the way the steam wafts out of the mug of tea, the cut persimmons, and suddenly he’s overcome. With what, he doesn’t know. There’s that tightness in his chest again and he doesn’t know what to do. He takes a gulp of tea in hopes of loosening the sensation, but all he succeeds in doing is burning his mouth and his throat. 

Chan decides to go to bed, studying be damned.

Sometimes, Sejun is in the mood for a bath, and that is where Chan’s pseudo-boundaries become real and he draws the line. 

So, whenever Sejun is sitting in the tub, soaking in his pink rose glitter bath bomb or whatever the fuck it is that takes nine years to clean off of the tub, Chan will sit with his back against the wall and keep him company. Whether he’s just messing around on his phone, doing homework on his laptop, or wasting time on his Switch when he should be working on a coding assignment instead, Chan is sitting there, without fail.

In most instances during Sejun Bath Time, there is no talking at all. There really is no reason for Chan to be there, and Sejun has never asked him to sit there with him. It just happened. A recurring theme, apparently. 

This time, however, the pair is watching Jujutsu Kaisen on Chan’s laptop, which is perched on the closed toilet lid. 

“So, what do you think I should do?” Sejun asks, and on-screen Yuuji is getting pummeled by a stuffed animal curse. 

“Well,” Chan says, looking over at him, “You want to ask for an extension on an assignment due in two hours, which you could have been working on and finishing right now, but instead you are here, soaking in the bathtub, watching anime with me. And you’ve been in there for an hour.” 

“It’s called self care,” Sejun sniffs, refusing to meet Chan’s eyes. “I am very _stressed_.”

“You could be less stressed if you worked on your assignment,” Chan points out, and quickly turns away when Sejun takes his wet hand and shakes water in his direction. 

“That’s rich, coming from Mister ‘finishes his code within minutes of it being due because he spends all his time playing animal crossing’” Sejun snorts, splashing Chan with water again. “Don’t tell me what to do.” 

“Listen, the difference is that I admit that I did it to myself,” Chan sniffs, and he leans over to wipe his face on the towel hanging near his head. 

“Pot calling the kettle black or whatever.” Sejun sits up and reaches forward to pull out the plug in the tub drain. 

Chan stands and grabs his laptop, giving him a look. “The tub better be spotless. I don’t want to find any of that nasty pink glitter shit in any of the crevices. Or mine.”

“God, why would you use the word crevices?” Sejun complains, making a face. 

“Because I know it’d gross you out,” Chan says loftily, heading towards the bathroom door. 

“Because you’re insufferable and a pain in the ass, more like,” Sejun mutters, and Chan closes the door behind himself, satisfied. 

Midterms are finally over and Chan can breathe a little. His exams were brutal—he had to write out a block of code by hand and he was pretty sure he had lost feeling in his fingers by the end. He briefly considered getting a brace meant for carpal tunnel because he’s dramatic. In fact, he almost drunk-ordered one off of Coupang in the middle of Seungsik and Seungwoo performing a ballad together, but Hanse had stopped him because the little shit is a buzzkill like that. 

They’re back from karaoke night with their friends, and Chan is giggling as he struggles to toe off his shoes in their entryway. Chan had not planned to drink that much while they were there, but it just happened when he kept getting pulled into taking shots with everyone else. Sejun is not properly fucked up like he had declared he would be, but he’s still tipsy, his giggles contagious as they head towards their bathroom to wash the smell of alcohol and sweat off of themselves. 

“Seungyoun’s boyfriend really is small,” Chan comments, watching as Sejun squeezes some of their strawberry shampoo into his hand and begins to work it into Chan’s hair and lathers. Chan’s eyes flutter closed, the sensation of Sejun’s fingers gently massaging his scalp almost enough to make him fall asleep standing up. They’re too tired for mohawks tonight. 

“You’re like the same height as him,” Sejun laughs, and Chan peeks an eye open and glares at him. 

“How dare you,” Chan spits, aghast. “How _fucking_ dare you. I’m at least two inches taller than Wooseok.” 

“Looks about the same to me,” Sejun shrugs, “I’m tall, so it doesn’t make a difference from my vantage point.” 

“You’re only an inch taller than me,” Chan says flatly. 

“Way more than just an inch,” Sejun says defensively, and he gently prods Chan’s chest so he would step back towards the water. 

This is Sejun’s cue to him to shut his mouth rinse. Once he’s finished rinsing and puts a deep conditioner in his hair, it’s his turn to do Sejun’s hair. 

Sejun watches him as he squeezes a generous glob of shampoo in the palm of his hand, his gaze never leaving Chan’s face. Chan can feel himself beginning to get nervous as he begins to work the shampoo into Sejun’s hair, avoiding eye contact as much as he can. But it’s hard when they’re right there in front of each other, mere inches apart, close enough that he can feel Sejun’s breath flit over his skin. Chan clears his throat and starts talking again, because the air between them is charged with something unfamiliar again and he has to fill it with something else or he’ll explode. 

“I am not the same height as Wooseok,” Chan says, and Sejun laughs, reaching up with his fingers and wiping a glob of conditioner off Chan’s forehead. Chan can’t help following the motion of his hand with his eyes and then he accidentally looks at Sejun’s face, where a bright grin has formed. 

Chan is reminded that Sejun is radiant, Sejun is the sun and sometimes Chan just can’t bring himself to look away. 

“We’re back to this?” Sejun asks, and his smile has softened to something so fond that Chan feels the urge to duck his head and look away because he can’t bear to see this tenderness that Sejun has allowed him. 

“It’s a point of pride,” Chan mumbles. 

“Okay, you’re at least two inches taller than Wooseok,” Sejun amends, and Chan is looking at the sun again, unable to help the way a grin forms on his face. 

“And only an inch shorter than you,” Chan prompts, and Sejun snorts, shaking his head slowly. 

“I’m not saying that.” 

“Why not.” 

“It’s a point of pride,” Sejun throws back at him, straight faced, and Chan glares at him, fingers buried in Sejun’s hair but unmoving. 

They stand there and glare at each other and Chan refuses to break first. 

“If you’re just gonna stand there and glare at me, you can pay the water bill yourself this month because it's about to go crazy,” Sejun says, and Chan breaks first and he hates Sejun for it, even as they giggle. He hates Sejun’s stupid pretty face and stupid laugh and—

And there’s a moment, while they’re laughing, that Chan notices the slightest change in Sejun’s face, the slightest change in the look in his eyes, like he’s steeling himself in preparation of something, like he’s made a decision and he’s determined to follow through.

Chan sees this and a thread of panic shoots through him and there’s nothing he can do, just watches helplessly, even as it’s happening, unable to allow himself that spark of hope, the ache of wanting. 

He watches as Sejun leans in, and then closer, and he’s tilting his head and it’s only moments before their lips will touch and Chan panics and he steps back into the stream of water and effectively drowns himself. 

They don’t speak for the rest of the night. In fact, they don’t speak at all for the next few days. 

No more showers, no more tea and late night snacks being brought to him. 

Sejun, Chan discovers, is very good at avoiding him. 

Even if Sejun doesn’t have classes in the morning on some days, he’s up and gone when Chan wakes up. When Chan comes home, Sejun is in his room, his door firmly shut. 

He doesn’t ask what’s wrong because he _knows_ what’s wrong. He just doesn’t know what to do about it. 

And then one day, he’s never there at all. He can only assume he’s at Seungsik and Seungwoo’s place, because they have an open door policy when it comes to their friends. 

Chan must lunch with the devil again to find out how Sejun is doing. Except he can’t let Seungsik know that’s why he’s having lunch with him, which evidently, he has failed at. 

“So what’s wrong?” Seungsik asks, midway through their _tteokbokki_ hotpot. Chan has already gone back twice to get more fish cakes, and he’s getting looks from the workers because they’ve had to refill them each time after he’s gone. 

What is the point of all you can eat, if you don’t eat your money’s worth? And since it’s not like they’re having steak and lobster, Chan’s gotta eat a fuckton of fish cakes and a fuckton of rice cakes. They’ll be here awhile. 

“How do you know something’s wrong,” Chan says around a mouthful of ramen, eyes streaming because it’s steaming hot. 

“You keep checking your phone whenever you get a notification and then look disappointed,” Seungsik says tiredly, giving him a look. 

“That's how you can tell something is wrong,” Chan says flatly, shoveling rice cakes into his mouth and trying to pretend like he didn’t just burn off the first layer of the inside of his mouth. 

“Well that, and the fact that Sejun was spending like 12hrs a day at mine and Seungwoo’s place for a few days, and now he’s just sleeping over.” Seungsik gives him a reproachful look. “What’d you do?” 

“Why do you assume it’s something that I did?” Chan demands, gulping down his yogurt drink bitterly. 

“Come on, let’s be real here, it’s usually something you’ve done,” Seungsik says, and Chan can’t even deny it. 

“Fine. He tried to kiss me during our shower last week,” Chan admits, and then it occurs to him that this isn’t something normal—

“What.” 

“He tried kissing me while we were showering,” Chan says again, slowly, pretending he doesn’t know why Seungsik is looking at him all astounded, like he’s been hit by a truck. 

“No, I got that, but it’s a lot to unpack,” Seungsik says, blinking rapidly. He seems to be going through all the stages of grief at once. Chan doesn't blame him. 

“How?” Chan is playing dumb and he knows it’s useless. 

“Well for one, when did showering together become a regular thing?” Seungsik demands, rubbing his temples with his fingers. 

“I dunno like. A few months ago?”

“ _Months_? _MONTHS_.” People around them begin to stare because of Seungsik’s sudden change in volume. 

“ _Not so loud_ ,” Chan hisses, and he laments the way all his friends are loud, dramatic, and insufferable. He needs quieter friends. 

“Wow,” Seungsik says, looking at Chan with a strange mixture of emotions that he can’t seem to identify and pick apart. “And he tried kissing you?”

“Yeah,” Chan regrets telling him this. Should have just kept his mouth shut and kept eating. Because now he’s thinking about the way Sejun had looked at him, the hurt in his face even as he stepped away and turned his back on Chan while waiting for him to finish rinsing his hair so he could rinse his own. And when he did, he got out and left without saying anything. 

“Are you sure?”

“What do you mean am I sure?” Chan asks, irritated now, even though he has no right to be. 

“Well what if he was just—”

Chan cuts him off, and this time his tone is snippy and he hates it. “He did the whole looking at my lips and head tilt thing and definitely leaned in close and—”

“Ah,” Seungsik looks strangely pleased at this. 

“Yeah.”

“Well, did you kiss him back?” 

“Would he be at your place if I did?” Chan mumbles this as he’s taking a large gulp of water this time. 

“Asshole. I’m trying to help you here,” Seungsik snaps, and he kicks Chan under the table, albeit lightly. 

“I’m sorry,” Chan says quietly, putting his chopsticks down and sitting on his hands. 

“Why didn’t you kiss him back?” Seungsik sounds genuinely baffled, and Chan doesn’t blame him. 

“I don’t know, I freaked out.” Chan’s voice gets higher as he says this, his voice cracking on the last word. “I freaked out and I hurt Sejun because of it. I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Why did you freak out?” 

“I don’t want to lose him,” Chan says quietly. “This is like the one thing we could do that could ruin everything.” 

“Showering together hasn’t ruined anything, why would this one kiss this time do it?” Seungsik asks, and he sounds baffled. If Chan is honest with himself, hearing it out loud makes him feel beyond stupid, but the fear doesn’t relinquish it’s grip on him. 

“I don’t know,” Chan says, “I don’t know. It feels like it’s the thing that crosses the line. We could be naked with each other in the shower but that’s all it is. We’re in the shower. Taking a shower. It’s been purely platonic and the kiss would change that. Does that make sense?” He reaches up and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, as if it would release the tension he feels. 

“Not really,” Seungsik admits, and Chan sighs. “Kissing Sejun would make it real, right? That’s basically what you’re saying?” 

“I guess.” 

“But wouldn’t you want it to be real? Why would you sabotage your opportunity to make you and Sejun real?” Seungsik is being so patient with him and Chan feels a wave of gratitude for him dealing with his jumbled and backwards logic. 

“I’m stupid and a coward. And making me and Sejun real just opens opportunities for us to be ruined. For our friendship to be ruined. I guess if it just stayed the same, there’s nothing to lose because nothing will have changed,” Chan says slowly, and he feels like he’s thinking as he’s speaking, and none of what he’s saying is making sense and he’s embarrassed now because what he’s been fucking scared of has made no sense at all and he’s about to ruin something good because of it. These stupid boundaries he keeps saying he has have done nothing for him. “How do I fix this?” 

“Well for one, you could actually talk to him.” 

“He clearly doesn’t want me to, if he’s been at your place and was already ignoring me before that.” Chan sighs. 

“He needed his space,” Seungsik says, “it’s been a week, maybe he’s ready now.” 

Chan thinks the problem may be that he is the one that isn’t ready. When he says as much, Seungsik glares at him, shaking his head. “You need to talk to him. If this goes on any longer you could lose more than just communal shower time.” When Chan just stares at him, Seungsik fixes him with a hard look. “Sejun loves you. And we all know you love him too. You need to fix this so at the very least, you don’t lose your best friend.” 

“How do you know I love him?” Chan swallows the lump that has been forming in his throat with some difficulty. “I never said that I loved him.” 

“I don’t care if you say you have boundaries,” Seungsik says seriously. “Because none of them have ever been for Sejun. They’ve been for yourself.” 

When Chan gets home, Sejun is there. The relief that washes over him is temporary. 

“Hey,” Chan says, letting the door fall shut behind him as he slips off his shoes and puts on his house slippers. “You haven’t been home in awhile.” 

“Oh. Yeah,” Sejun says quietly. “I ran out of clean underwear so I came to get more.” His voice is flat, words clipped, and it’s not encouraging, but Chan pushes away the nerves that gnaw at him and walks over to where Sejun is standing by the couch, a duffle bag by his feet. 

“I missed you,” Chan says, and when he sees Sejun’s jaw tighten, he adds, “I’m sorry.” 

“For what?” Sejun isn’t looking at him. He’s staring determinedly right over Chan’s shoulder. 

“Pulling away.” 

“You don’t have to apologize. You don’t feel the same way and you didn’t want to kiss me. I don’t want you to do something that you don’t want to do,” Sejun says, and Chan can see the way his eyes shine with unshed tears in the shitty lighting of their apartment and mentally, he kicks himself for causing this. 

“What is it, exactly, that you feel?”

“God, Chan are we really fucking doing this right now?” Sejun sounds angry now, and the way he’s looking at Chan now with resentment is unfamiliar, but Chan knows it’s mostly hurt that he’s masking. “I thought you were apologizing, not trying to humiliate me again.” 

“I’m not trying to humiliate you,” Chan says, “I promise. Please. Just talk to me.”

“Interesting how you want to talk to me now. Every time I’ve asked to talk to you, you’ve walked away or run away. You cut it off before it even starts,” Sejun says, chuckling bitterly. Chan can’t even defend himself, because there’s no excuse for his cowardice, or his treatment of Sejun. 

“I’m sorry,” Chan says again. “I know I’ve been shitty. But I’m trying to fix it now. To talk now.”

Sejun just looks at him for a long moment, and his stiff posture slumps into something more tired, more defeated, and Chan can’t help but want to reach out and hold him. Sejun crosses his arms and looks away.

“I have feelings for you, okay? I like you,” Sejun says finally, and he doesn’t sound angry anymore, just sad. “And you don’t feel the same way, and it’s fine. I just need time and then we can be best friends again, I promise.”

Chan feels a lot of things at this moment. He makes a mental inventory of it all. There’s nothing quite the elation that you feel when your best friend likes you back, he discovers, as if the attempted kiss hadn’t already been evidence of that. There’s also nothing like the guilt that he feels now at the way he had stepped away from Sejun, had made him feel so hurt that he had been the one to run away this time. 

“I don’t want to be best friends,” Chan says, and Sejun’s eyes widen with hurt, so he scrambles. “I mean, I don’t want us to only be best friends, not if we’re feeling the same way about each other.” 

“What are you saying?” Sejun sounds flat again, like he’s already steeled himself for it being a misunderstanding, like he’s already begun protecting himself. 

“I have feelings for you too,” Chan says quietly. “Actually, not even just feelings, if we’re being completely honest. I love you.” 

Sejun stares at him, lips parted as he processes what Chan has said, looking at him like he’s never seen anything like him before. And Chan waits, with that fear coming to the forefront again, gnawing at his stomach and making his palms sweat. 

“I wish you would have been honest sooner,” Sejun says, and he steps closer. “So I could be honest and say that I love you too.” 

The air between them is charged again, but this time, Chan doesn’t mind, not with Sejun so close that he can count his eyelashes. Not with Sejun’s hand holding his face and the other is on his neck, his touch featherlight on his skin. 

And pretty soon there’s no air between them at all, not with the way that their mouths have slotted together in a kiss that sends the fear fleeing from Chan’s body and the way Chan's hands are on Sejun’s waist.

There’s no air and there’s no boundaries. 

Just them. 

**outtake**

They’re in the shower again, but this time—

“ _Uh_.” Chan blinks.

The smell of artificial strawberries wafts through the air and the swirling steam. 

“What?” 

“Did you just put strawberry shampoo in my ass?”

“Oh shit, was that not the lube?”

**Author's Note:**

> teehee


End file.
